Chapter 10: Finding a Balance

If I didn't know any better Dr. Silverstein's office could have been a study not a physician's practice. Bookshelves lined one wall, framed medical certificates the other, a reproduction Matisse on the third. His desk looked like a genuine antique, carved and burnished wood with green leather inlaid in the top. A black flat panel monitor and keyboard on one side was the only testament to the twenty-first century.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He smiled, his intelligent brown eyes bright behind wire-framed glasses. He was a small man, bird-like, immaculately groomed and attired, the subtle grey pinstripe suit very elegant. As the top specialist in his field he exuded confidence and understanding.

"There are no guarantees, Mr. Hawk. But your test results show the odds are very good that normal sperm production will be restored in six to nine months, once the surgery is completed."

I'd debated this move. I'd researched as if writing a novel. It turned out Sasha could have a perfectly normal child with me. It also turned out the vasectomy was reversible. It was going to cost an arm and a leg but Sasha's happiness was more than worth it.

"How long is the procedure?" I asked.

"You'll be in and out in half a day. Because it's microsurgery I prefer to have patients under a general anesthetic. It ensures there's no accidental movement during the procedure, improving the odds, as it were."

"So when can I have it done?" I asked.

Dr. Silverstein lifted the telephone handset. "Trudy, when is our next opening for a vasovasostomy?" He listened for a brief moment and turned to me, his hand covering the mouthpiece. "Is the day after tomorrow convenient? We've had a cancellation. Nine A.M.?"

I nodded.

"Please book Mr. Jason Hawk in for then. Thank you." He hung up and continued, "Do you have any other questions?"

"Um, yeah. How long before..."

"Before you can have intercourse?" he finished for me with a smile.

"Yeah."

"You'll be out of action for a week. Bandages and protective wear will be needed for that week. After that you can go to town, so to speak."

"A week?" I asked. How the heck would I hide it from Sasha?

He nodded. "One full week."

On the way home I debated about how to tell my daughter. If I told her before the procedure she'd do nothing but worry. If I told her after she'd berate me for hiding something so important from her. I mentally sighed. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation.

Inspiration hit as the old service elevator carried me up to the fourth floor. I'd treat it as a surprise but inform her before that I'd have a surprise. Covered either way. Damn I'm brilliant!

SASHA'S CURIOSITY WAS BURNING. "What do you mean a surprise?" she yelled up the stairs.

Dad had announced he'd have a surprise for her after school. His sexy eyes had twinkled with his I've-got-a-secret look, his grin enough to make her flush with love.

"Go to school!" echoed down to her.

"No! Tell me now. What's the surprise?"

"Sasha, go ... to ... school!"

"How do you expect me to learn anything with this hanging over my head?" she yelled.

"It's not a prison sentence. It's a surprise! Go to school!"

"You're a bad man. I hate you!" Sasha yelled, grinning.

"Love you, too," echoed down.

Shaking her head, Sasha grabbed her back pack and hefted it over her shoulder before leaving the apartment. Dad was a coward hiding upstairs like that. He knew she'd get the truth if he had to face her. He couldn't hide anything from her.

A blustery cold wind greeted her when she stepped out into the street. November was edging close to winter, autumn drying up and dying like the dead leaves rustling along the sidewalk. She turned up the collar of her padded corduroy jacket, stuffed her hands deep in the pockets and headed for the subway, head bowed.

She liked how things were settling down between them. For the last three weeks she'd worked hard to be less jealous, to trust Dad more. He'd helped by not going to any other events but one day he would and Sasha was determined not to show jealously at all. Dad might think it was easy not to be jealous, but he didn't see himself. He didn't see how other women reacted around him, how ladies glanced at him in coffee shops or at the market with interest in their eyes. He had no idea how sexy he was, how lovable, or the impact his smile had.

Sasha danced down the stairs entering the noisy bustle of New York's transit system. Screeches of steel-on-steel reached up to her from the depths with teeth-grating intensity. People hustled and bumped and shoved. It was all background noise to her. Her mind was occupied.

She thought Dad had changed subtly over the last couple of days. He seemed more loving. His hugs were tighter. In bed he wasn't as playful, his love softer, more emotional. Why? Sasha smiled to herself. She'd discovered some things about herself. She adored teasing Dad. He was so easy and reacted so enthusiastically. She adored how her teasing made him so horny he'd almost lose control. She loved the intensity in his chocolate eyes, the adoration mixed with sexual lust for her. It was a heady combination and rather devastating.

She'd realized something else, too. She loved sex with Dad. It was just about the best thing she'd ever experienced, even better than dancing. For some strange reason she had yet to figure out, her climaxes were getting stronger. Was it because she was so relaxed with him now? Was it because she wasn't as shy about her body? It was hard to be shy with Dad around. He showed such boyish appreciation and delight about every part of her - especially her ass - that she was growing proud of her body as she saw it through his eyes.

The subway train blew into the station bringing a wave of air pressure that buffeted her body. She followed everyone in, grabbing a handhold in anticipation of the jostling ride.

What was his surprise? Knowing there was a surprise was worse than having an unreachable itch on her back and not being able to scratch it. She was dying to know. Today was going to be endless.

I MOVED GINGERLY, TAKING small steps. It felt like the anesthetic was wearing off, that or the protective cup in my groin had caught some pubic hairs that hadn't been shaved. Were they going to itch growing back? Maybe I'd ask Sasha. She shaved her pubes so she'd know. Was that why she kept her pussy shaved now?

Opening the fridge I grabbed a bottle of Grolsch beer and tried to open the white ceramic stopper with a swipe of the edge of my finger.

"Ouch! Dagnabbit!" I cursed to the empty apartment.

How come it didn't work? Shoot! Now my finger hurt. I wrestled the bottle open and took a long swig. It didn't matter that it was one o'clock in the afternoon, or that the painkillers had a little red warning label saying something about them and alcohol not playing well together in the sand box. How bad could it be?

I carefully settled on the couch, stretched out, turned the television on and sipped the ice cold Dutch brew. How would Sasha react? Excitement battled with trepidation. It really could go either way. Flipping channels I found The Rundown and relaxed.

A slamming front door woke me up.

"Dad? Dad! Where are you?" my overly loud daughter called out.

Was it three-thirty already? Maybe alcohol and pills really didn't play well together. "Over here," I waved.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked, dumping her backpack on the floor by the door and shrugging out of her jacket. "What's the surprise?"

"Come here and sit," I instructed, gingerly sitting up.

"So?" she asked, amber eyes bright, her dark-burgundy hair still wind-mussed. "What's the surprise? Come on. Tell me."

"You have a doctor's appointment for tomorrow at five-fifteen."

Sasha looked confused. "That's the surprise? That's not a very good surprise," she informed me quite seriously. "Wait. Why do I have a doctor's appointment? I'm not sick."

"To get a prescription for birth control pills," I said, keeping my face deadpan.

"Why?"

"Well, there's the thing," I said and paused.

"What thing? What's gotten into you?" Sasha asked.

"Nothing. I started thinking about what you said in San Francisco so I did some research."

"What did I say?" Sasha asked. She was looking a bit bewildered.

"About wanting to have a child with me someday."

She fell silent, her amber eyes gaining incredible intensity as they locked onto mine, her body absolutely still, back straight.

"It turns out a vasectomy can be reversed. It's a simple procedure and I don't hurt that much, at least not as much as I thought I would."

There it was. Now, would she yell at me for not telling her or jump for joy?

My daughter had the ability to flummox me at every turn. I thought I knew her. I had lived with her for almost fifteen years, after all. But the truth was I would never understand her. She looked at me with those big beautiful eyes and tears welled and spilled slowly, large tears, eyes glistening. She wiped her cheek, inhaled deeply and nodded.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You sure?"

She nodded and wiped her other cheek.

"You don't look okay," I informed her. "You're crying."

She nodded.

"Sweetheart, something more than a nod would be nice. Are you happy or sad? It's a bit difficult to figure out with those tears."

Sasha moved into my side and leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. "I'm happy, Dad, just overwhelmed. Give me a minute."

It was more like five minutes. She ended the comfortable silence in fine form, sitting up and exclaiming, "You had surgery without telling me? Why would you do that? What if something had happened and I wasn't there?"

A cute frown emerged. "How could you be so insensitive, Dad? If anything ever happened to you I'd kill you!"

"So this is happy?" I asked.

A massive smile emerged. She lunged at me wrapping her arms around my neck. I winced, the pressure below causing some sharp shooting pains into sensitive areas.

"I love you so much," she said. "Can you imagine it? Us having a baby some day?"

"Not until you're thirty-five," I immediately qualified.

"Eighteen," she countered.

"Forty."

"Twenty."

"Forty-two," I suggested.

Sasha giggled and sat up, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're not doing this right. We're supposed to meet in the middle."

"Say's whom?"

Sasha laughed brightly. "What do you want for dinner? Do you hurt? Can I do anything for you? You shouldn't be drinking beer. Do you want some tea? I'll make you tea."

With that, Sasha set about taking care of me, full of bounce and enthusiasm and bright eyes.

Over the next few days we gradually reestablished equilibrium in our relationship. Sex was out for me but my curiosity wasn't. A lazy Sunday afternoon, three days after the surgery, found me slouched in front of the television watching playoff football. Sasha sat on the couch curled up, her attention on her iPhone. When Green Bay fumbled the ball for the third time I snorted in frustration and turned my attention to Sasha; a far more interesting distraction.

She'd bought yoga pants for which I was eternally thankful. Whoever invented them was a true hero and deserved a Noble prize for physics. They hugged her lower body closer than paint on a canvass and outlined everything, and I mean everything. I'd spent considerable time trying to discover if she was wearing panties and had found no evidence to confirm it - very exciting. Those incredible pants stuck to her small pussy forming to her perfectly, the camel toe astonishingly deep, her mons outrageously plump.

"What does it feel like to wear those pants?" I asked, sipping a beer.

She glanced up at me and shrugged. "Like pants."

"So it doesn't hurt to have them so deep in your pussy?"

She shook her head, her eyes on the iPhone screen, thumbs moving.

"What does it feel like to wear silk panties?" I asked.

Her body shook slightly in a silent chuckle, her head bowed trying to ignore me.

"I've never understood why walking doesn't make a girl horny. Doesn't it rub your clitoris?"

Her body shook again.

"Do women buy yoga pants because it turns them on during yoga? Being tight and all. And snug. And ... very tight." I paused and added, "And how do you actually get them on? Or off, for that matter?"

Taking a sip of beer I asked, "What does it feel like when you're horny and your panties are damp? What do you do about it? The horniness, I mean." Another sip of beer and I added, "I've always wondered why wearing a bra doesn't make your nipples sensitive but sucking on them does. What are your thoughts?"

Sasha giggled quietly, her body shaking harder.

"Have you ever tried to pee standing up? I can pee sitting down, you know."

She burst into laughter. "You're such a dingbat, Dad!" she exclaimed, her gorgeous amber eyes twinkling rather brightly.

"But, Honey, I really want to know. These are mystical female secrets all men want answers to."

I adored her amusement.

Dr. Silverstein officially declared me healthy on Thursday, one week after the microsurgery. I was horny. A week without sex with my daughter was too long. It hadn't been as hard on Sasha, though. I'd given her orgasms at night from fondling her hairless pussy, eating her, and generally loving every part of her body. It was an interesting experience. Having an erection that I was under strict orders not to relieve made it a real challenge. But I also discovered the beauty of a fourteen-year-old body.

Every part of her was silky skin. She had temperature zones, too. Under her breasts was slightly warmer. Her buttocks were cool to the lips, her pussy almost hot. Her feet were cold, her neck warm. She tasted different, too. There seemed to be a salty taste to her areolae unless she showered. Her pussy was absolutely delicious, her arousal a light, heady ambrosia that I adored. Her kisses were minty. I might have suffered a painful erection but I benefited by truly exploring every inch of teenage perfection.

Sasha had no dance class today so she'd be home at three-thirty or so. I watched the street for her and spotted her strolling along, sucking on an iced latte. Why would anyone drink an iced coffee in cold November weather? She danced across the street dodging cars, a taxi horn blaring loudly, and disappeared from sight. She couldn't see my frown of disapproval from down there.

Just seeing her coming home made my blood move faster. I'd planned tonight with great care. Romancing and seduction was the theme. On the stove dinner was cooking over a low heat. It was one of her favorites, Jambalaya; a concoction of basmati rice, flavorful smoked ham hock meat, tender fresh shrimp, herbs and spices and diced tomatoes, all slightly piquant providing a bite to the palette. For the side I'd make a crisp green salad to provide a texture contrast and a simple flavor to offset the complex tastes of the jambalaya.